The Elephant In The Room

Hey Babes!

Before I dive into my monologue, I think it is important to note that I am a bitch.

To address the elephant in the room, yes, I have lost weight. A significant amount of weight, but no I won’t tell you a number, or dive into the nitty gritty of how I lost the weight. So, if that’s what you’re here for, this isn’t that post.

Losing weight is strange, because everybody wants to know how you did it. It’s like I am in possession of the magic anecdote and they are in dire need of the elixir as well. I am highly unqualified to give anyone any sort of advice, but really what the fuck do I know about nutrition or dieting or wellness? I know what works for me and for my body and while I visit a nutritionist and take daily vitamins, I am not in any position to ever give anyone unsolicited or even solicited health advice.

I have never and I mean ever discussed my weight with anyone. I used to sit on the examination table swinging my legs back and forth bracing myself for the inevitable conversation that was coming at every doctor’s appointment, telling myself that I would not under any circumstance cry this time when they brought up my weight. I was bullied all throughout my life because of my BMI, mostly by groups of boys who would snicker and say things under their breath as I walked by, as if I couldn’t hear them, or maybe they didn’t care if I did. It was never something I complained about out loud. I never bitched or whined about it in front of anyone as I got ready for the day or even events. It has always been and will always be a deeply personal and touchy subject for me.

But, yes it bothered me. I avoided mixers in college like the plague, partially due to anxiety but also because I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb when I was surrounded by my pretty sorority sisters. I was the ugly duckling in a room filled with beautiful, well groomed, impeccably dressed girls. I fell in love with the sport of cheerleading when I was eight years old, but I never looked the part. At practice I was fine, but I felt it the most when I had to put on my uniform. I had to pay to get a uniform custom made for me in high school because the ones provided didn’t fit me. While dressed in my uniform my junior year of high school, I heard a girl make a comment in math class about how she was shocked that I was a cheerleader, because cheerleaders were supposed to be thin and athletic and another girl chimed in and said, “well she’s obviously not.”

When I was measured for my college uniform my freshman year, I had lost a lot of weight the summer before, so it fit me well, but it didn’t fit so nicely when I was a junior or senior. I dreaded game days because I didn’t feel confident or even remotely comfortable in my uniform. Maybe my pictures on Instagram tell a drastically different story, about a body positive carefree girl, but there was no amount of Facetune or VSCO filters that made me feel good. I mean I went to school for fashion merchandising that was seventy percent female and nothing knocks your self-confidence more than comparing yourself to your classmates all day that are dressed way better than you because they can fit into the clothes you can’t.

I developed tactics to deal with my insecurities. I learned to layer my clothes and was even complimented by my peers on how well I hid myself. Of course, that’s not what they said or what they meant, but that’s what I was doing, hiding myself under piles of fabric. I became adamant about pictures being taken from a certain angle because my favorite angle made me appear smaller than I was. I coped with all of it, without ever publicly verbalizing my frustration or sadness to anyone, except for my mom who had to witness all of my mental breakdowns over the subject.

The breaking point came when I developed secondary amenorrhea, which means that I wasn’t menstruating. This went on for two years. I tried different medicines and even resorted to taking a pill called, Provera, which forced my body to produce a cycle. The experience was brutal, painful and emotionally draining. Imagine what that’s like, all of those hormones and months’ worth of menstruation at once. Yeah, it’s not great. Oh and add on top of that, being told by my OBGYN that the longer I went without my period the more difficult it would become for me to conceive a child naturally. My poor lifestyle choices were effecting my chances of being able to be a mom. I was 22 and while nowhere near ready to have children, being told that it would be extremely difficult for me to do so, when I was ready, was like a knife to the chest. That was a decision that I wanted to be able to make. I didn’t want having a family to not even be an option for me. So, I did the unthinkable.

I changed my lifestyle. I visited with doctors, a therapist, a nutritionist and I made the change. I mentally prepared for the change and I have dedicated my time and energy into following through with this. Here’s the secret to my success. There is none. I eat smaller portions of foods that are good for me. I stay away from processed food as much as possible, I read nutrition labels and I gasp workout with a trainer. This shit is difficult. It is not easy, it is not linear and it is not so simple. Losing weight doesn’t solve your problems. I mean for me, medically yes, but mentally no. I still carry all of that emotional trauma, I just carry less excess physical weight.

I do love sincere compliments, in fact they brighten my day, because I have worked really hard. I entertain the awkward compliments followed by, the inevitable how did you do it question. What I cannot stand is people that feel entitled to know every. fucking. detail. about how much I have lost, what I weigh now and how much more I want to lose. That’s fucking invasive and to be blunt, that’s none of your fucking business. Unless you asked me all of those questions before I lost weight, what makes you think it is okay to ask me them now? If I were gaining weight, would you have the balls to ask me how much I weighed or what size I was wearing? Interactions like this, is why I don’t post transformation photos on Instagram or Facebook, and also because that feels desperate, like I need validation or acknowledgement from strangers and acquaintances on the Internet. Yeah, I warned you I was a bitch.

Honestly, I would rather not discuss any of this at all and I don’t bring it up in conversations in my everyday life. But, I feel like it is important to address it here, because I’m sure that this change will affect the posts I publish on my blog. I used to post recipes for seasonal baked goods, but I rarely bake treats anymore. I eat a ton of carrots and hummus now, but I do still love cake. It also feels like I am ignoring the elephant in the room, if I don’t quickly address the subject and then move the fuck on. So, can we all move on to more important topics please, like how Nick Jonas should have married me, where Ansel Elgort went and the status of the Tyler Cameron, Hannah Brown and Gigi Hadid love triangle!

xoxo,

Kelly